


Chase It Away

by fractalgeometry



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Asexual Relationship, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Holding Hands, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Queerplatonic relationship, Tea, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24746518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry
Summary: It was a lovely day. Quiet. Peaceful.Then Gabriel had to come and spoil it.Still, they can bounce back. They can talk. They can heal. They’re only getting better at it as time goes on.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 185





	Chase It Away

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing the interactions between Aziraphale and the other angels in the show gave me some ideas, so here's a version of those ideas. Slight warning for what I consider to be emotionally abusive language (because Gabriel is a jerk), but Crowley and Aziraphale get time to deal with its effects and take care of themselves afterward.

The bookshop was quiet.

This wasn’t unusual. The bookshop was, as a rule, quiet. Sometimes the quiet was the quiet of a single being, lost in one book or another, sitting alone in one of his favorite chairs. Sometimes the quiet was the quiet of emptiness; of no one being there at all. Sometimes it was the quiet of hopeful customers trying not to upset the notoriously particular owner, while that owner kept an equally quiet but very determined eye on them.

More and more often, the quiet was the quiet of two beings sharing the space. Sharing the quiet. Nowadays, sharing the furniture. 

This was the quiet of the bookshop now.

Aziraphale was reading. There was a longstanding tradition in the bookshop of Aziraphale reading, and it was not one he was keen on changing. He was reading now, sitting at one end of Crowley’s favorite sofa, thoroughly lost in the words.

Crowley was dozing. There was a new habit forming in the bookshop of Crowley dozing, and it was quickly becoming a tradition. He was dozing now, sprawled lengthwise along his favorite sofa, head in Aziraphale’s lap. 

Aziraphale’s hand that was not holding his book was stroking absently through Crowley’s hair, down the back of his neck, over his shoulder, and back. Crowley’s hand that he was not lying on top of was resting near his face, cupping Aziraphale’s knee.

The bookshop was quiet.

The door opening was loud.

Aziraphale looked up from his book as the sound of the shop bell filtered into his consciousness. He blinked a few times, trying to resurface from the story woven through the words. 

“Crowley, dear? Did we forget to lock the door?” he asked, smoothing the hair over Crowley’s ear.

“Mmph,” Crowley said, and burrowed his face further into Aziraphale’s lap.

“Because someone has just opened it,” Aziraphale persisted, “and I shall have to go send them off.”

Crowley grunted something noncommittal and stayed where he was.

Aziraphale huffed affectionately and brushed Crowley’s hair out of his face again. “It won’t take long.”

There were footsteps from the front of the shop. Purposeful footsteps.

Aziraphale frowned.

The footsteps — and their owner — reached the door to the back room. Aziraphale froze.

And Gabriel said, “Oh, _ew.”_

Crowley abruptly stopped lolling on Aziraphale’s lap and started being much more upright. Aziraphale reflexively scooped the demon’s sunglasses off the table next to him and passed them into Crowley’s waiting hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley slide them onto his face in a practiced, almost unconscious motion.

“What in Someone’s name are _you_ doing here?” Crowley demanded, and Aziraphale found himself glad that at least one of them could come up with words. 

He stood up, at least, unwilling to have Gabriel standing over them, and a moment later Crowley’s head moved from the height of his elbow to slightly above his own. Ah, good, then. Crowley had stood up too. 

Gabriel didn’t seem to hear Crowley. He looked straight at Aziraphale. “You have a demon in your material base, Aziraphale.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said intelligently. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

“From where I stand,” Gabriel continued with a decidedly unpleasant smile, “it doesn’t look like you intended to chase it out.”

Something hot flared in Aziraphale’s chest. It took him several moments to find anything to say. 

_“It?”_ he said finally. It was the only thing that was readily coming to mind. Gabriel was depersonifying Crowley, he realized, and that’s why Aziraphale was feeling this hot emotion. Anger. It was anger. 

“It’s a demon, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, his smile turning almost pitying. Like he was teaching Aziraphale the obvious. “And it looked like you were welcoming it. Engaging in _physical touch_ with it. You really have fallen far from Heaven, haven’t you?”

There was another emotion in Aziraphale’s chest. A cold one, warring with the hot anger. Fear. Could it be fear? It might be fear. It was cold, very cold. Chokingly cold. It fought the anger. Aziraphale wanted it to stop doing that.

Something bumped against the back of his hand. It bumped again, and stayed, lightly touching. It was Crowley’s hand, he realized. Aziraphale flipped his own around, felt Crowley do the same. Grasped Crowley’s fingers. Felt him grasp back. Firm. Grounding. He wasn’t alone.

“Not _fallen,”_ Crowley hissed at Gabriel. “That’s not what that word means, and you know it.”

Gabriel acknowledged Crowley for the first time, looking as though he hated every moment of it. “I wasn’t speaking to you, demon.”

“Aziraphale hasn’t Fallen,” Crowley said with conviction. “We all know that. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“You’re speaking to both of us,” Aziraphale added. Crowley’s hand in his gave him courage, though he could tell his voice wasn’t as loud as he wanted. “We’re both here.” _We’ll both stay here,_ he wanted to add, but the words wouldn’t come. 

Gabriel stared at them for a long moment. He looked furious. The coldness in Aziraphale grew.

“I was coming to see if you’d come to your senses,” he finally spat. “Give you a second chance. Don’t want to leave one of our own out in the cold. But this! This is _disgusting.”_

Crowley’s fingers tightened on Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale realized he wasn’t breathing, but was too distracted to remedy it. 

Gabriel’s eyes flicked to their joined hands. The disgust on his face grew, and he looked back up. “Have fun with your little demon toy, Aziraphale.”

The hot feeling surged back.

“Don’t talk about him that way!” Aziraphale snapped. 

Gabriel looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Some of us still know what demons are worth. Or aren’t.”

Aziraphale drew himself up. Crowley was still holding his hand. Aziraphale was glad of it. “Get out of my bookshop.”

Gabriel smiled at him again, and it was back to the pitying smile. “Oh, Aziraphale,” he said. “You’ve even forgotten that _you_ don’t get to tell _me_ what to do.”

Then the coldness was back, coursing through him, drowning out the angry heat. He felt cold all over. Except…

Except for the hand that Crowley was holding.

Aziraphale looked directly into Gabriel’s pale, cruel eyes. “Get,” he repeated, “Out. Of. My. Shop.”

“Best do it,” Crowley advised, in a voice that would have been casually recommending if it hadn’t been so menacing. “He’s _very_ good at throwing people out of his shop.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Gabriel said again. 

“Seems to _me,”_ Crowley said, still almost casual, “that you lot were supposed to leave us alone.”

Gabriel’s eyes flashed. “Aziraphale,” he said, “you are an angel, standing against an angel, by the side of a demon.”

The coldness rolled. Crowley’s hand was warm.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said.

“And you’re not,” Gabriel continued, a hint of furious wonder in his voice, “at all ashamed of it.”

The cold wasn’t shame. The heat wasn’t shame. Crowley, standing beside him, was absolutely not shame.

“No,” Aziraphale said.

“You are repulsive,” Gabriel said, almost matter-of-factly. He turned and stalked toward the door. When he was almost there, he paused and looked back. “Oh, and I know _exactly_ what I said about falling.”

The door slammed.

The bell tinkled.

The feeling of a second ethereal presence vanished.

~

Aziraphale was shaking, he realized distantly. He was shaking, and his ears were full of a strange rushing sound, and the cold feeling was still there. He involuntarily tightened the grip of his right hand, and felt Crowley’s hand still in it.

Warm.

A spot on his left arm became warm too, and it took him several seconds to realize it was because Crowley had placed his other hand there. He was pushing, gently, encouraging Aziraphale to sit back onto the sofa.

Aziraphale sat.

The sofa moved as Crowley sat next to him. Aziraphale realized he was talking, but the sounds weren’t registering. There was only the rushing. 

Crowley’s fingers loosened, pulling away from Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale instinctively clutched tighter, refusing to lose that grounding touch. He saw Crowley sigh, gently, carefully. He felt Crowley’s other hand join the one he was trying to pull away. It encircled the back of Aziraphale’s, then worked its way between their hands, replacing the first. Aziraphale could accept this. He relinquished the first hand, clinging all the harder to the second. 

A warm band settled along the back of his shoulders. The hand he had let go of encircled his left shoulder, tugging gently. Oh. Crowley’s arm was across his shoulders. Crowley was pulling him closer. 

Aziraphale could accept this too. He nearly collapsed against his friend, curling in on himself, tucking his head under Crowley’s chin. Crowley wound his arm tighter around Aziraphale and held him there. He wasn’t talking anymore. Aziraphale could feel him breathing, almost carefully even.

Oh. It probably _was_ carefully even. 

Aziraphale started breathing again.

Slowly, the shaking stopped. The rushing sound faded. He could hear the quiet of the bookshop.

Crowley pressed a kiss to his hair, but didn’t pull back. His nose poked the top of Aziraphale’s head. 

“Can you hear me again, angel?” he asked softly. 

Aziraphale nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should be the one comforting you; he was pretending you didn’t even exist! I-“

“Nope, no apologies,” Crowley interrupted. “Everything he said was specifically to hurt you. He said those things about me to try to upset you. It’s not like I haven’t heard it all before, anyway.”

“You shouldn’t have to be _used_ to being spoken about that way.” Some of the hot feeling came back.

Crowley shrugged without loosening his grip. “Later,” he said, still speaking into Aziraphale’s hair. “Don’t deflect.”

Aziraphale had half a mind to tell him the same thing right back, but he wasn’t up to it. He still felt shaky, even if the physical shaking had stopped, and the coldness was right on the edge of everything, waiting to roll back over him. He moved his fingers in Crowley’s, almost to check that their hands were still entwined. 

They were.

For a moment the two of them just sat there and breathed, that unnecessary human activity that still somehow worked to calm them. Finally, Aziraphale said, “I don’t know why it’s affecting me like this. I’ve always been fine before.”

“They haven’t specifically said things like that before, though, have they?” Crowley pointed out.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“Not exactly,” Crowley repeated.

Aziraphale hesitated. “It was always more...subtle, in the past.” The word _repulsive_ ran through his mind, and he shivered a little. Crowley squeezed his hand just the tiniest bit tighter. “I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise, really. I wasn’t- I wasn’t pretending to be a good angel, this time. Of course it infuriated him.”

“You _are_ a good angel,” Crowley said firmly.

“Heaven doesn’t think so.” It came out more quavery than he’d have liked.

Crowley drew a breath to argue. Aziraphale felt him do it, felt him prepare the sharp words that would denounce Heaven, and Gabriel, and the other archangels. Felt him pause. Felt him breathe out, drop the tension. Felt him sigh, a little.

“I know,” Crowley said, quietly. “And I know that you _are_ a good angel. The best angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t have words to respond to that. He couldn’t say _I’m not_ or _Gabriel said-_ or _I’m just-_ . But he also couldn’t say _you’re right_ or _I know_ or even _thank you._ Instead he sighed, shakily, and made himself hear Crowley’s words over again, trying not to flinch away from them. He made a small noise, finally. Noncommittal. Just to say, _I heard you._

Crowley knew what it meant. Of course he did. He didn’t say anything more, just sat there on the sofa, holding Aziraphale. Patient. Warm.

Eventually Aziraphale shifted. “I think I should like to make some tea,” he said.

Crowley’s arms loosened. “All right,” he said agreeably. “You want to go do that now, then?”

Aziraphale nodded, uncurling himself and regaining some of his normal posture. Crowley’s arm slipped off his shoulders, and Aziraphale squeezed their joined hands gently before letting go. He stood up and took a moment to check his balance before walking toward the kitchen. 

Crowley followed him, settling into a sprawl in one of the kitchen chairs. Aziraphale was glad of it. He made the tea in silence, letting the familiar motions soothe him. 

The phrase _gross matter_ ran through his head as he measured tea leaves into the pot, and his movement stuttered. Gabriel was right, Aziraphale had been on Earth too long, was too human, being calmed by a human ritual, was a bad angel-

The memory of Crowley’s voice, then. _The best angel._

Crowley was a demon. He shouldn’t be trusted to say who was a good angel. Aziraphale should expect him to be lying, leading him astray. Tempting him to Fall.

Aziraphale didn’t expect any of that. Didn’t believe any of that.

_The best angel._

Aziraphale added another scoop of tea leaves to the pot.

~

They sat at the table to drink their tea. They hadn’t really discussed it, but Crowley was already there, and Aziraphale automatically sat beside him. His calf pressed against Crowley’s. Neither of them moved away. They sipped silently, listening to the quiet of the bookshop. 

“He was wrong,” Crowley said after a while. “About Falling. He has no _idea_ what he’s talking about.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him. Crowley was staring into the distance, just the way he had been since they sat down. His mouth was tight.

“I suppose not,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley turned to look at him then, and his voice was sharper, the way it got when he was trying not to seem affected by something. “He has _no idea,_ angel. None. It’s just- it’s just a word for him. Something to throw around and threaten people with.”

Aziraphale nodded. He took another sip of tea. He let the delicately green aroma settle in his nose. He let it warm the remnants of the cold feeling. 

He put his free hand on the table, face up. If Crowley wanted it.

“You’re not going to Fall, Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice was intent. “I _do_ know what it means. I won’t let you.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, hand still on the table. “Though I don’t know if you have any more say in that than- than Gabriel does.”

Crowley looked away. His eyebrows came down, lips pressed together. After a moment, he put his hand in Aziraphale’s. Held it, tight.

“I have sheer force of will, I guess,” he said. “Maybe that counts for something.”

“I suppose it might,” Aziraphale said. “And, well, I’m still an angel. Even after these last few months. Even after today. I think we can’t predict what will happen, at this point.”

Crowley kept focusing on the far edge of the table, as though it had a mark that only he could see. “Yeah,” he said, finally. His voice was scratchy. 

“Do you remember,” Aziraphale continued, carefully, “earlier? When Gabriel said I was-” he swallowed- “‘an angel, standing against an angel, with a demon’? I said- I said yes. And, Crowley, _I meant it.”_

Crowley looked at him again, searching his face, processing his words.

“He wanted to make me see things his way,” Aziraphale said, the pieces slotting together in his own mind even as he spoke. “He wanted to shock me into- into denouncing you, because no angel should- would- stand against another, put them on opposite sides, so he forced me to choose whether I was- oh goodness, whether I was an angel or not, and I chose-” 

He stopped, the pieces flying through his head fast, so fast, all wrapped up in the hot feeling and the cold feeling and the deep, deep uncertainty, and Crowley was there. He was holding Aziraphale’s hand, and looking a little shell-shocked, and a little scared, and a little tense, and he was being quiet. He was waiting for Aziraphale to finish.

So he did. “And I chose to stand with you,” he said, slowly now. “I chose that, from the bottom of my heart, and I meant it the whole time. And, Crowley... _I’m still an angel.”_

“You are,” Crowley said, voice low. “The best angel.”

The tea had cooled to room temperature. Aziraphale forewent the last of his and slid his chair a little closer to Crowley’s. The demon leaned into him. He was warm. 

They would have more to talk about. Things like _It’s not like I haven’t heard it all before,_ and _It was always more subtle, in the past._ Crowley would call him _a good angel_ again, and maybe someday Aziraphale could really believe it. He would call Crowley _smart,_ and _worthy,_ and _loyal,_ and he hoped that someday Crowley could really believe it.

Yes, they would have more to talk about. But today, they would sit in the kitchen, and then maybe somewhere with softer furniture. They would hold each other, and Aziraphale would read, and Crowley would doze. There would be two beings, sharing the space.

And the bookshop would be quiet. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't tend to write things with this sort of conflict, so I'm intrigued by this one. I do quite like this story. Please comment your thoughts if you can; it makes me very happy! :)


End file.
